Entirely reassured by these frank, friendly explanations, Charles of Artois sent out his son Bertrand to the empress to receive her with the respect due to her rank and high position at the court of Naples.  Catherine went promptly to the castle with many signs of joy, and inquiring after the count’s health and expressing her affection, as soon as they were alone, she mysteriously lowered her voice and explained that the object of her visit was to consult a man of tried experience on the affairs of Naples, and to beg his active cooperation in the queen’s favour.  As, however, she was not pressed for time, she could wait at Saint Agatha for the count’s recovery to hear his views and tell him of the march of events since he left the court.  She succeeded so well in gaining the old man’s confidence and banishing his suspicions, that he begged her to honour them with her presence as long as she was able, and little by little received all her men within the walls.  This was what Catherine was waiting for:  on the very day when her army was installed at Saint Agatha, she suddenly entered the count’s room, followed by four soldiers, and seizing the old man by the throat, exclaimed wrathfully—­

“Miserable traitor, you will not escape from our hands before you have received the punishment you deserve.  In the meanwhile, show me where your treasure is hidden, if you would not have me throw your body out to feed the crows that are swooping around these dungeons.”

The count, half choking, the dagger at his breast, did not even attempt to call for help; he fell on his knees, begging the empress to save at least the life of his son, who was not yet well from the terrible attack of melancholia that had shaken his reason ever since the catastrophe.  Then he painfully dragged himself to the place where he had hidden his treasure, and pointing with his finger, cried—­

“Take all; take my life; but spare my son.”

Catherine could not contain herself for joy when she saw spread out at her feet exquisite and incredibly valuable cups, caskets of pearls, diamonds and rubies of marvellous value, coffers full of gold ingots, and all the wonders of Asia that surpass the wildest imagination.  But when the old man, trembling, begged for the liberty of his son as the price of his fortune and his own life, the empress resumed her cold, pitiless manner, and harshly replied—­

“I have already given orders for your son to be brought here; but prepare for an eternal farewell, for he is to be taken to the fortress of Melfi, and you in all probability will end your days beneath the castle of Saint Agatha.”

The grief of the poor count at this violent separation was so great, that a few days later he was found dead in his dungeon, his lips covered with a bloody froth, his hands gnawed in despair.  Bertrand did not long survive him.  He actually lost his reason when he heard of his father’s death, and hanged himself on the prison grating.  Thus did the murderers of Andre destroy one another, like venomous animals shut up in the same cage.